LESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY
It was early morning. Early even for the staff of the Rodney House
Hotel. And Leslie Grey was about to breakfast. The solitary waitress
the hotel boasted was laying the tables for the eight-o'clock meal.
The room had not yet assumed the spick-and-span appearance which it
would wear later on. There was a suggestion of last night's supper
about the atmosphere; and the girl, too, who moved swiftly here and
there arranging the tables, was still clad in her early morning,
frowsy print dress, and her hair showed signs of having been hastily
adjusted without the aid of a looking-glass. A sight of her suggested
an abrupt rising at the latest possible moment.
From the kitchen beyond a savoury odour of steak and coffee penetrated
the green baize swing-door which stood at one end of the room.
"Is that steak nearly ready?" asked Grey irritably, as the girl
flicked some crumbs from the opposite end of his table on to the
floor, with that deft flourish of a dirty napkin which waitresses
usually obtain.
She paused in her work, and her hand went up consciously to the screws
of paper which adorned her front hair.
"Yessir, it'll be along right now."
Then she continued to flick the table in other directions.
"I ordered breakfast for six o'clock. This is the slackest place I
ever knew. I shall talk to Morton and see if things can't be altered.
Just go and rouse that cook up. I've got to make Leonville before
two."
The girl gave a final angry flick at an imaginary crumb and flounced
off in the direction of the kitchen. The next moment her shrill voice
was heard addressing the cook.
"Mr. Grey wants his breakfast--sharp, Molly. Dish it up. If it ain't
done it's his look-out. There's no pleasing some folks. I s'pose Mr.
Chillingwood'll be along d'rectly. Better put something on for him or
there'll be a row. What's that--steak? That ain't no good for Mr.
Robb. He wants pork chops. He never eats anything else for breakfast.
Says he's used to pork."
The girl returned to the breakfast room bearing Grey's steak and some
potatoes. Coffee followed quickly, and the officer attacked his
victuals hungrily. Then Robb Chillingwood appeared.
Leslie Grey was about to rate the girl for her remarks to the cook,
but Robb interrupted him.
"Well, how does the bridegroom feel?" he asked cheerily.
"Shut up!"
"What's the matter? Cranky on your wedding morning?" pursued the town
clerk irrepressibly.
"I wish to goodness you'd keep your mouth shut. Why don't you go and
proclaim my affairs from the steps of your beastly Town Hall?" Grey
glanced meaningly in the direction of the waitress standing in
open-mouthed astonishment beside one of the tables.
Robb laughed and his eyes twinkled mischievously. He turned sharply on
the girl.
"Why, didn't you know that Mr. Grey was going to be married to-day?"
he asked, with assumed solemnity. "Well, I'm blessed," as the girl
shook her head and giggled. "You neglect your duty, Nellie, my girl.
What are you here for but to 'sling hash' and learn all the gossip and
scandal concerning the boarders? Yes, Mr. Grey is going to get married
to-day, and I--I am to be his best man. Now be off, and fetch my
'mutton'--which is pork."
The girl ran off to do as she was bid, and also to convey the news to
her friends in the kitchen. Robb sat down beside his companion and
chuckled softly as he gazed at Grey's ill-humoured face, and listened
to the shrieks of laughter which were borne on the atmosphere of
cooking from beyond the baize door.
Grey choked down his indignation. For once he understood that protest
would not serve him. Everything about his marriage had been kept quiet
in Ainsley up till now, not because there was any need for it, but
Robb had acceded to his expressed wishes. The latter, however, felt
himself in no way bound to keep silence on this, the eventful day.
Robb attacked some toast as a preliminary, while the other devoured
his steak. Then Grey looked up from his plate. His face had cleared;
his ill-humour had been replaced by a look of keen earnestness.
"It's a beastly nuisance that this is my wedding day," he began. "Yes,
I mean it," as Robb looked up in horrified astonishment. "I don't
mean anything derogatory to anybody. I just state an obvious fact. You
would understand if you knew all."
"But, damn it, man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for saying
such a thing. You are marrying one of the best and sweetest girls in
Southern Manitoba, and yet--why, it's enough to choke a man off his
feed." Chillingwood was angry.
"Don't be a fool. You haven't many brains, I know, but use the few you
possess now, and listen to me. A week ago, yes; a week hence, yes. But
for the next three days I have some dangerous work on hand that must
be done. Work of my department."
"Ah, dirty work, I suppose, or there'd be no 'must' or 'danger' about
it."
Grey shrugged.
"Call it what you like. Since you've left the service I notice you
look at things differently," he said. "Anyway, it's good enough for me
to be determined to see it through in spite of my wedding. Damn it,
there's always some obstacle or other cropping up at inopportune
moments in my life. However--I wish I knew whether I could still trust
you to do something for me. It would simplify matters considerably."
Robb looked serious. He might not be possessed of many brains, as Grey
had suggested--although Grey's opinions were generally warped--but he
thought well before he replied. And when he spoke he showed
considerable decision and foresight.
"You can trust me all right enough if the matter is clean and honest.
I'll do nothing dirty for you or anybody else. I've seen too much."
"Oh, it's clean enough. I don't dirty my hands with dishonest
dealings. I simply do my duty."
"But your sense of duty is an exaggerated one--peculiar. I notice that
it takes the form of any practices which you consider will advance
your personal interests."
"It so happens that my 'personal interests' are synonymous with the
interests of those I serve. But all I require is the delivery of a
letter in Winnipeg, at a certain time on a given date. I can't trust
the post for a very particular reason, and as for the telegraph, that
wouldn't answer my purpose. I could employ a messenger, but that would
not do either--a disinterested messenger could be got at. You, I know,
couldn't be--er--influenced. If you fail me, then I must do it myself,
which means that I must leave my bride shortly after the ceremony
to-day, and not return to her until Friday, more than two days hence.
That's how the matter stands. I will pay all your expenses and give
you a substantial present to boot. Just for delivering a letter to the
chief of police in Winnipeg. I will go and write it at once if you
consent."
Robb shook his head doubtfully.
"I must know more than that. First, I must know, in confidence of
course, the object of that letter. And, secondly, who is to be the
victim of your machinations. Without these particulars you can count
me 'out.' I'll be no party to anything I might afterwards have cause
to regret."
"That settles it then," replied Grey resentfully. "I can't reveal the
name of my 'victim,' as you so graphically put it. You happen to know
him, I believe, and are on a friendly footing with him." He finished
up with a callous laugh.
Robb's eyes shone wickedly.
"By Jove, Grey, you've sunk pretty low in your efforts to regain your
lost position. I always knew that you hadn't a particle of feeling in
your whole body for any one but yourself, but I didn't think you'd
treat me to a taste of your rotten ways. Were it not for the sake of
Alice Gordon's chum, the girl you are going to marry, I wouldn't be
your best man. You have become utterly impossible, and, after to-day's
event, I wash my hands of you. Damn it, you're a skunk!"
Grey laughed loudly, but there was no mirth in his hilarity. It was a
heartless, nervous laugh.
"Easy, Robb, don't get on your high horse," he said presently. Then he
became silent, and a sigh escaped him. "I had to make the suggestion,"
he went on, after a while. "You are the only man I dared to trust.
Confound it, if you must have it, I'm sorry!" The apology came out
with a jerk; it seemed to have been literally wrung from him. "Try and
forget it, Robb," he went on, more quietly, "we've known each other
for so many years."
Robb was slightly mollified, but he was not likely to forget his
companion's proposition. He changed the subject.
"Talking of Winnipeg, you know I was up there on business the other
day. I had a bit of a shock while I was walking about the depot
waiting for the train to start."
"Oh." Grey was not paying much attention; he was absorbed in his own
thoughts.
"Yes," Robb went on. "You remember Mr. Zachary Smith?"
His companion looked up with a violent start.
"Well, I guess. What of him? I'm not likely to forget him easily.
There is just one desire I have in life which dwarfs all others to
insignificance, and that is to stand face to face with Mr. Zachary
Smith," Grey finished up significantly.
"Ah! So I should suppose," Robb went on. "Those are my feelings to
a nicety. But I didn't quite realize my desire, and, besides, I
wasn't sure, anyhow. A man appeared, just for one moment, at the
booking-office door as I happened to pass it. He stared at me, and I
caught his eye. Then he beat a retreat before I had called his face
to mind--you see, his appearance was quite changed. A moment later
I remembered him, or thought I did, and gave chase. But I had lost
him, couldn't discover a trace of him, and nearly lost the train into
the bargain. Mind, I am not positive of the fellow's identity, but
I'd gamble a few dollars on the matter, anyway."
"Lord! I'd have missed fifty trains rather than have lost sight of
him. Just our luck," Grey exclaimed violently.
"Well, if he's in the district, we'll come across him again. Perhaps
you will have the next chance." Robb pushed his chair back.
"I hope so."
"It was he, right enough," Robb went on meditatively, his cheery face
puckered into an expression of perplexity. "He was well dressed, too,
in the garb of an ordinary citizen, and looked quite clean and
respectable. His face had filled out; but it was his eyes that fixed
me. You remember those two great, deep-sunken, cow-eyes of his----"
Robb broke off as he saw Grey start. "Why, what's up?"
Grey shook himself; then he gazed straight before him. Nor did he heed
his companion's question. A strongly-marked pucker appeared between
his eyebrows, and a look of uncertainty was upon his face. Robb again
urged him.
"You haven't seen him?" he asked.
"I don't know," replied Grey.
"What do you mean?"
"I have just remembered something. I came across a--stranger the other
day. He was wrapped in furs, and I could only see his eyes. But those
eyes were distinctly familiar--'cow'-eyes, I think you said. I was
struck with their appearance at the time, but couldn't just realize
where I had seen eyes like 'em before." Then he went on reflectively:
"But no, it couldn't have been he. Ah----" He broke off and glanced in
the direction of the window as the jangle of sleigh-bells sounded
outside. "Here's our cutter. Come on."
Robb rose from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his trousers.
There came the sound of voices from the other side of the door.
"Some of the boys," said Robb, with a meaning smile. "It's early for
'em."
"I believe this is your doing," said Grey sulkily.
Robb nodded in the direction of the window. "You've got a team. This
is no 'one-horsed' affair."
The door opened suddenly and two men entered.
"Oh, here he is," said one, Charlie Trellis, the postmaster, with a
laugh. "Congratulate you, Grey, my friend. Double harness, eh? Tame
you down, my boy. Good thing, marriage--for taming a man."
"You're not looking your best," said the other, Jack Broad, the
telegraph operator. "Why, man, you look as though you were going to
your own funeral. Buck up! Come and have a 'Collins'; brace you up for
the ordeal."
"Go to the devil, both of you," said Grey ungraciously. "I don't swill
eye-openers all day like you, Jack Broad. Got something else to do."
"So it seems. But cheer up, man," replied Broad imperturbably, "it's
not as bad as having a tooth drawn."
"Nor half as unpleasant as a funeral," put in Trellis, with a grin.
Grey turned to Robb.
"Come on," he said abruptly. "Let's get. I shall say things in a
minute if I stay here."
"That 'ud be something new for you," called out Broad, as the two men
left the room.
The door closed on his remark and he turned to his companion.
"I'm sorry for the poor girl," he went on. "The most can-tankerous pig
I ever ran up against--is Grey."
"Yes," agreed the other; "I can't think how a decent fellow like
Robb Chillingwood can chum up with him. He's a surly clown--only
fit for such countries as the Yukon, where he comes from. He's not
particularly clever either. Yes," turning to the waitress, "the
usual. How would you like to be the bride?"
The girl shook her head.
"No, thanks. I like candy."
"Ah, not vinegar."
"Nor--nor--pigs."
Broad turned to the grey-headed postmaster with a loud guffaw.
"She seems to have sized Grey up pretty slick."
Outside in the hall the two men donned their furs and over-shoes.
Fortunately for Grey's peace of mind there was no one else about. The
bar-tender was sweeping the office out, but he did not pause in his
work. Outside the front door the livery-stable man was holding the
horses. Grey took his seat to drive, and wrapped the robes well about
him. It was a bitterly cold morning. Robb was just about to climb in
beside him when a ginger-headed man clad in a pea-jacket came running
from the direction of the Town Hall. He waved one arm vigorously,
clutching in his hand a piece of paper. Robb saw him first.
"Something for me, as sure as a gun. Hold on, Grey," he said. "It's
Sutton, the sheriff. I wonder what's up?"
The ginger-headed man came up breathlessly.
"Thought I was going to miss you, Chillingwood. A message from the
Mayor. 'Doc' Ridley sends word that the United States marshal has got
that horse-thief, Le Mar, over the other side. You'll have to make out
the papers for bringing him over. I've got to go and fetch him at
once."
"But, hang it, man, I can't do them now," exclaimed Robb.
"He's on leave of absence," put in Grey.
"Can't be helped. I'm sorry," said the sheriff.
"It's business, you know. Besides, it won't take you more than an
hour. I must get across to Verdon before noon or it'll be too late to
get the papers 'backed' there. Come on, man; you can get another
cutter and follow Grey up in an hour. You won't lose much time."
"Yes, and who's going to pay the damage?" said Robb, relinquishing his
hold on the cutter's rail.
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders.
"You'll have to stay," he said conclusively.
"I suppose so. Grey, I'm sorry."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," replied Grey coldly. "It's not your fault.
Well, good-bye. Don't bother to follow me up."
"Damn!" ejaculated the good-hearted Robb, as the cutter moved away.
"Going to get married, ain't he?" said the sheriff shortly, as Grey
departed.
"Yes." And the two men walked off in the direction of Chillingwood's
office.
And Grey drove off to his wedding alone. He was denied even the
support of the only man who, out of sheer good-heartedness, would have
accompanied him. The life of a man is more surely influenced by the
peculiarities of his own disposition than anything else. When a man
takes to himself a wife, it is naturally a time for the well-wishes of
his friends. This man set out alone. Not one God-speed went with him.
And yet he was not disturbed by the lack of sympathy. He looked at
life from an uncommon standpoint, measuring its scope for the
attainment of happiness by his own capacity for doing, not by any
association with his kind. He was one of those men who need no
friendship from his fellows, preferring rather to be without it. Thus
he considered he was freer to follow his own methods of life. Position
was his goal--position in the walk of life he had chosen. Could he not
attain this solely by his own exertions, then he would do without it.
The crisp, morning air smote his cheeks with the sting of a whip-lash
as he drove down the bush-lined trail which led from the Rodney House
to the railway depot. It was necessary for him to cross the track at
this point before he would find himself upon the prairie road to the
Leonville school-house, at which place the ceremony was to be
performed. The "gush" of the horses' nostrils sounded refreshingly in
his ears as the animals fairly danced over the smooth, icy trail. The
sleigh-bells jangled with a confused clashing of sounds in response to
the gait of the eager beasts. But Grey thought little of these things.
He thought little of anything just now but his intended despoiling of
the owner of Lonely Ranch. All other matters were quite subsidiary to
his one chief object.
Once out in the open, the horses settled down into their long-distance
stride. Here the trail was not so good as in the precincts of the
village. The snow was deeper and softer. Now and then the horses'
hoofs would break through the frozen crust and sink well above the
fetlocks into the under-snow.
Now the thick bush, which surrounded the village, gave place to a
sparser covering of scattered bluffs, and the grey-white aspect of the
country became apparent. The trail was well marked as far as the eye
could reach--two great furrows ploughed by the passage of horses and
the runners of the farmers' heavy "double-bobs." Besides this, the
colour was different. There was a strong suggestion of earthiness
about the trail which was not to be observed upon the rolling
snow-fields of the surrounding prairie.
The air was still though keen, and the morning sun had already risen
well above the mist of grey clouds which still hovered above the
eastern horizon. There was a striking solemnity over all. It was the
morning promise of a fair day, and soon the dazzling sunshine upon the
snow would become blinding to eyes unused to the winter prairie.
But Grey was no tenderfoot. Such things had no terrors for him. His
half-closed eyes faced the glare of light defiantly. It is only the
inexperienced who gaze across the snow-bound earth, at such a time,
with wide-open eyes.
The bluffs became scarcer as mile after mile was covered by the long,
raking strides of the hardy horses. Occasionally Grey was forced to
pull off the trail into the deep snow to allow the heavy-laden
hay-rack of some farmer to pass, or a box-sleigh, weighted down with
sacks of grain, toiling on its way to the Ainsley elevator. These
inconveniences were the rule of the road, the lighter always giving
way to the heavier conveyance.
Ten miles from Ainsley and the wide open sea of snow proclaimed the
prairie in its due form. Not a tree in sight, not a rock, not a hill
to break the awful monotony. Just one vast rolling expanse of snow
gleaming beneath the dazzling rays of a now warming sun. A hungry
coyote and his mate prowling in search of food at a distance of
half-a-mile looked large by reason of their isolation. An occasional
covey of prairie chicken, noisily winging their way to a far-distant
bluff, might well be startling both to horses and driver. A dark
ribbon-like flight of ducks or geese, high up in the heavens, speeding
from the south to be early in the field when the sodden prairie should
be open, was something to distract the attention of even the most
pre-occupied. But Grey was oblivious to everything except the trail
beneath him, the gait of his team, and his scheme for advancement. The
sun mounted higher, and the time passed rapidly to the traveller. And,
as the record of mileage rose, the face of the snow-clad earth began
again to change its appearance. The undulations of the prairie assumed
vaster proportions. The waves rose to the size of hills, and the
gentle hollows sank deeper until they declined into gaping valleys.
Here and there trees and small clumps of leafless bush dotted the
view. A house or two, with barn looming largely in the rear, and
spidery fencing, stretching in rectangular directions, suggested
homesteads; the barking of dogs--life. These signs of habitation
continued, and became now more frequent, and now, again, more rare.
The hills increased in size and the bush thickened. Noon saw the
traveller in an "up-and-down" country intersected by icebound streams
and snow-laden hollows. The timber became more heavy, great pine trees
dominating the more stunted growths, and darkening the outlook by
reason of their more generous vegetation. On the eastern extremity of
this belt of country stood the school-house of Leonville; beyond that
the undulating prairie again on to Loon Dyke Farm.
Leslie Grey looked at his watch; the hands indicated a near approach
to the hour of one. He had yet three miles to go to reach his
destination. He had crossed a small creek. A culvert bridged it, but
the snow upon either side of the trail was so deep in the hollow that
no indication of the woodwork was visible. It was in such places as
these that a watchful care was needed. The smallest divergence from
the beaten track would have precipitated the team and cutter into a
snow-drift from which it would have been impossible to extricate it
without a smash-up. Once safely across this he allowed the horses to
climb the opposite ascent leisurely. They had done well--he had
covered the distance in less than six hours.
The hill was a mass of redolent pinewoods. It was as though the
gradual densifying of this belt of woodland country had culminated
upon the hill. The brooding gloom of the forest was profound. The dark
green foliage of the pines seemed black by contrast with the snow, and
gazing in amongst the leafless lower trunks was like peering into a
world of dayless night The horses walked with ears pricked and wistful
eyes alertly gazing. The darkness of their surroundings seemed to have
conveyed something of its mysterious dread to their sensitive nerves.
Tired they might be, but they were ready to shy at each rustle of the
heavy branches, as some stray breath of air bent them lazily and
forced from them a creaking protest.
As the traveller neared the summit the trail narrowed down until a
hand outstretched from the conveyance could almost have brushed the
tree-trunks.
Grey's eyes were upon his horses and his thoughts were miles away.
Ahead of him gaped the opening in the trees which marked the brow of
the hill against the skyline. He had traversed the road many times on
his way to Loon Dyke Farm and knew every foot of it. It had no
beauties for him. These profound woods conveyed nothing to his
unimpressionable mind; not even danger, for fear was quite foreign to
his nature. This feeling of security was more the result of his own
lofty opinion of himself, and the contempt in which he held all
law-breakers, rather than any high moral tone he possessed. Whatever
his faults, fear was a word which found no place in his vocabulary. A
nervous or imaginative man might have conjured weird fancies from the
gloom with which he found himself surrounded at this point. But Leslie
Grey was differently constituted.
Now, as he neared the summit of the hill, he leant slightly forward
and gathered up the lines which he had allowed to lie slack upon his
horses' backs. A resounding "chirrup" and the weary beasts strained at
their neck-yoke. Something moving in amongst the trees attracted their
attention. Their snorting nostrils were suddenly thrown up in startled
attention. The off-side horse jumped sideways against its companion,
and the sleigh was within an ace of fouling the trees. By a great
effort Grey pulled the animals back to the trail and his whip fell
heavily across their backs. Then he looked up to discover the cause of
their fright. A dark figure, a man clad in a black sheepskin coat,
stood like a statue between two trees.
His right arm was raised and his hand gripped a levelled pistol. For
one brief instant Grey surveyed the apparition, and he scarcely
realized his position. Then a sharp report rang out, ear-piercing in
the grim silence, and his hands went up to his chest and his eyes
closed.
The next moment the eyes, dull, almost unseeing, opened again, he
swayed forward as though in great pain, then with an effort he flung
himself backwards, settling himself against the unyielding back of the
seat; his face looked drawn and grey, nor did he attempt to regain the
reins which had dropped from his hands. The horses, unrestrained,
broke into a headlong gallop; fright urged them on and they raced down
the trail, keeping to the beaten track with their wonted instinct,
even although mad with fear. A moment later and the sleigh disappeared
over the brow of the hill.
All became silent again, except for the confused, distant jangle of
the sleigh-bells on the horses' backs. The dark figure moved out on to
the trail, and stood gazing after the sleigh. For a full minute he
stood thus. Then he turned again and swiftly became lost in the black
depths whence he had so mysteriously appeared.